


Assassin's Creed: Yet Another Corny Title

by GryfoTheGreat



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen, Mary Sue, Mary Sue Parody, POV Original Character, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GryfoTheGreat/pseuds/GryfoTheGreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world hates Connor. Not just his one, but the future one as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assassin's Creed: Yet Another Corny Title

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to know why there are so many self inserts in Assassin's Creed. Not just those, but original characters as well. From what I can see, a lot of them are very similar; hot girl, tsundere to whoever is the character of the moment, and babies ever after while saying 'screw you!' to canon at the same time.
> 
> I'm not saying that all OCs are bad; that's far from the truth. I just want to know, why Assassin's Creed? Why a series where being historically inaccurate is a constant danger? Why a series to which many modern people would fail horribly to adjust to?
> 
> Rant over. Sorry.

Rozanne des Smith had no clue where she was

Well, kind of.

See, she’d been watching her brother and his (totally hot!) best friend play some stupid videogame. Ugh. Nerds.

 Still, this one was kinda good.

Mainly ‘cause the main character looked like her brother’s (still hot!) friend.

So, she’d gone on the internet to surf around the place, look the game up. She’d stumbled on an interesting link, she‘d clicked on it, and like thunder (lightning? _So_ mainstream) she’d ended up in some retarded version of, like, Boston. Or London. She didn’t really know, because she spent History texting her friend’s newest boyfriends, but, whatever. Who cared?

Roz tossed her long, dark, curly waves that shimmered like an oil spill in the Atlantic, adjusted her sexy leather clothes (the vest came down to her belly button! It was so _cute_!) and the pointy hood that was threatening to poke her eye out, and set off.

It wasn’t long before she found the hot dude from the game. What was he? Mexican? Well, whatever he was, he looked like a cross between Edward and Jacob, and she could _so_ roll with that.

When he saw her, she threw out her chest, swung her hips to the side, fluttered the coal black eyelashes that fringed her violet amethyst ice blue orbs, and began to say in her best playing-hard-to-get voice, “Ohmy _gawd_ , you freak, what are you _looking_ at? I like, _hate_ you! You _killed_ my brother!”

He looked at her with a dawning expression of horror. Well, on him it was probably supposed to be. On anyone else, they’d just look tired.

“Not another one. Please, not another one...!”

“Whaaat? I’m, like, one of a _kind_! I have these special powers! Watch!”

She pointed her finger at a flower.

It perked up slightly.

Hot Mexican Dude gave her a dirty look. “Well done, Perslutphone. The ones who could at least breathe fire were useful.”

“Huh?” She leaned over, making sure to let her cleavage hang out, and looked behind him.

Lined up like ducklings following their mom were a band of girls. Not a single dude was present.

All the girls looked like her, with beautiful, well conditioned long colour, ranging from black to blonde to blue. All had huge, multicoloured eyes, and all had perfect skin and fantastic figures. Most were also wearing some variation on the hottie’s greatcoat, except shorter, lower and made of leather. She thought that the stink of perfume was amazing, but Hottie kept putting his hand over his nose.

“But, my hair is _black_! That means that I’m genuine!” She stomped her foot, hoping it would endear her to him.

It didn’t work.

“Look, I am-I am not _dealing_ with this. Go home. You have parents and pets! Go away!”

There was a simultaneous outcry of “we’re ORPHANS!”

“Brilliant! Go to the orphanages, then!”

One girl stepped forward, with pink eyes and blond hair tipped with violet, and pressed her manicured hands to Taylor/Edward’s chest. “But, Connooooor! I got here first! I can heal you of your pain, your angst! Please! My only other option is...” she inhaled dramatically. “PROSTITUTION!”

“Good for you. You have the clothing already.” He shook her off. “Now, just...go!”

Roz looked at Blondie, and nodded. As one huge mass, desperate for reviews and self-gratification, the Mary-Sues surged forward.

Connor froze up. This was like, what, Regency England? So chivalry was still alive. So he wouldn’t attack them!

Well, for a few seconds.

Connor punched the third one in the face, and whistled loudly, swatting away lethal manicures and high-heeled boots.

He then tried to get to his pockets, but his arms were restrained by soft, bony hands. He struggled desperately, but then landed on an idea.

“Look!” he yelled, nodding vaguely towards the harbour. “A sale!”

The bitch brigade paused for a moment heads swivelling, wondering if it was Hot Topic or Abercrombie who had decided to bless them. Taking advantage of the opening, Connor extricated a smoke bomb and smashed it on the ground.

Then he ran like hell. Stephane and co could take care of _them_.


End file.
